


Free To Be

by inkcharm



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bisexual Male Character, Canon Bisexual Character, Chronic Pain, Consent, Enthusiastic Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Freedom, Gratuitous Smut, Hand Jobs, Healing, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Intimacy, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Oral Sex, Orgasm, Past Sexual Abuse, Pegging, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex, Sex Toys, Sexual Content, Shameless Smut, Smut, Strap-Ons, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-18
Updated: 2015-10-18
Packaged: 2018-04-27 00:51:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5027338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkcharm/pseuds/inkcharm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reuniting after three years of separation, Fenris and Hawke have to learn all about intimacy again, what freedom they can share with one another, and how to handle a body that's a minefield of bad memories. They embark on this journey of discoveries together, where intimacy isn't always sexual, and Fenris discovers an unexpected kink or two... No but seriously, it's basically just a shameless excuse for some feels and plenty of smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Free To Be

**Author's Note:**

> Please note any story involving Fenris and sex comes with a huge grab bag of warnings regarding his past. That means slavery, rape, abuse, torture, and the aftermath of both. Should I have handled any of these topics poorly, please do let me know.

He hadn't been free, truly free, at the time, and therein lay the mistake. ****

 

Over the years, Hawke often found herself contemplating the moment in which she'd realized Fenris was leaving her. It wasn't, as one might have guessed, when she awoke to find him fully dressed with his back to her. It wasn't when she saw the too tense line of his back and shoulders. Nah. Hawke knew from the moment their lips touched, and everything tasted much too bittersweet.

 

Later she'd be able to admit it was a mistake. Not that she could ever truly regret starting something with Fenris. Even back then she loved him too much to wish for less. It's just that she never should have taken advantage of him the way she did. Everyone always thought that it was her who'd been left heartbroken and aching. Everyone blamed Fenris for walking out on her. Hawke would always be ashamed to admit that out of the two of them, he definitely suffered worse in the aftermath, and deserved none of it. But to defend him would have been to lay out in public information that wasn't hers to share.

 

That night had been wonderful while it happened, but only because Hawke had failed to see all the warning signs. Or perhaps she'd seen them but chosen to stay ignorant. Whatever the case, through all the passion, through all the grabbing and touching and frantic chase of pleasure there'd been something pained and closed off in his eyes. Part of Hawke would never forgive herself for not seeing it, not protecting him from his own attempts to rush forward when he failed to protect himself.

 

But it was done, and truth be told he did the only sensible thing in running.

 

Hawke never blamed him, not when she knew so much about his past and what had been done to him. For all his anger and strength, Fenris carried deep wounds that she couldn't begin to fully understand. She could try better than she had that night, though, when she'd made him think the only way to be close to her was to serve in her bed.

 

What never found its way into Varric's stories was a moment they'd never shared even with their closest friends, too fragile to be openly discussed lest it shatter and spill the remnants of sweet aches and deep longing. The way she held him back before he walked out. The way she kissed his cheeks and tied red fabric around his wrist so he'd know that the choice was his, not hers. That she'd consider herself his as long as he wore the favor, and wouldn't stray from him. That she'd wait and be faithful and love him no less, and that should he choose to remove it, she'd still be his friend.

 

So for three years, Hawke didn't consider herself the woman everyone else saw, whose lover walked out on her, but rather a woman in a committed relationship with someone who had a lot of healing to do before there was a chance of making this relationship anything but unhealthy. For three years, she watched him, patient and full of a calm, steady kind of hope every time she saw him and noticed the splash of red on his wrist, saw the way he'd sometimes touch the favor when no one was looking his way. No one but her, at least. She also noticed the way his constant movement became less frantic and paranoid, more self assured. Fenris grew to be battle ready because of their present work, not because of his past haunting him.

 

And then of course, Varania and Danarius nearly stole away all his progress, nearly opened back up all the wounds he'd so carefully tended to for three years, the progress he'd make that he'd later thank her for, but that was his achievement alone. And Hawke loathed his former master in particular, finally able to put a face and name to the man who'd hurt her friend, the monster who'd robbed Fenris of the ability to be easy with his body and affections. While also furious with her, Hawke found she couldn't even blame Varania, and was glad to be there to stop Fenris from ripping his own heart out right along with his sister's.

 

Her patience was rewarded that very night when he returned to her.

 

They didn't have sex, but sat on her bed half-dressed and comfortable. Hawke had learned her lesson, and at any rate her blood couldn't boil quite so soon after Danarius called Fenris 'skilled'.

 

He'd pleased her breathless three years ago, and Hawke was more than ashamed to realize he'd shown her all the things he'd learned, perhaps with all the right intentions, but the thought crawled beneath her skin for a while there anyway. However, now Danarius was dead. Defeated, killed and spat on as he should be, and Fenris had a future stretching out ahead of him with plenty of time to discover both himself and her. For now, in the dark of the night with Danarius' blood only just washed from his skin, he held her, and even though she was more used to strong farm boys over athletic elves, Hawke fit against his side beautifully. Fenris let her watch him read, let her place her hand here and there for both of them to see whether he'd remain calm, relax further, or tense.

 

They realized over the following weeks of a relationship no longer on hold, dangling suspended in the tense air between them, that his body was a maze of dead ends and traps. The wrong touch to the wrong stretch of warm skin at the wrong time could make his eyes go blank, and Hawke had to learn to watch him carefully, see the difference between his eyes going glassy with pleasure or memories.

 

Not that he was fragile. If anything, she needed to learn these things not to handle him, but so she could help him be more gentle with himself.

 

„You're dear to me, Fenris. I'd have you enjoy this, not just endure.“

 

They both knew he could endure much more than he should. It just wasn't something she'd have him associate with her bed.

 

There were pleasant surprises to be discovered, too. Once Fenris realized he was free to pursue his desires, he turned out to be affectionate, eager to experiment with what he liked, what she liked, how to position himself by her side instead of three steps ahead or behind. He learned that he was more than free to pursue her lips whenever the fancy struck him, and though she considered it unnecessary, Hawke couldn't quite deny how weak her knees felt whenever he breathed a soft “May I?” against her mouth before rushing ahead to claim territory she gladly yielded to him.

 

It was, after all, a journey she was all too happy to embark upon with him.

 

* * *

 

There were days when Fenris disliked touch, and he learned how to say no on one such day.

 

The lyrium beneath his skin was a chronic pain he had learned to hide quite well. Only sometimes it grew worse, almost too much to bear. Often this happened after they had embarked on long errands that saw them battle mages. With Hawke, the blood mage and the abomination there could be up to three mages at Fenris' back alone, and only one of those he trusted fully with his life. Their magical energies washing over him and making his lyrium pulse were unpleasant in battle but familiar, and at least mostly helpful as he was healed or found his enemies slowed, frozen, damaged for him to more easily dispose of.

 

Enemy mages were another matter entirely.

 

Fenris was a living weapon and knew how to kill mages, of course. Geting up close and violent was usually a more than sufficient tactic. That did require slipping past the front ranks of their enemies, of course, something he could really only afford to do if he knew Aveline to be there to draw their attention. If it was only him, he could do nothing but cross blades with other warriors and hope Isabela could slip past them to stab the mages in the back, or that Varric might once more show off his deadly aim, or that Hawke would prove more skilled in wielding her regrettable gift than them. Either way, the added magical energy usually resulted in his lyrium flaring up unpleasantly, reacting to the forces in the air.

 

This wasn't something he could reasonably hide from Hawke, and to his own surprise he discovered himself not trying particularly hard either.

 

As a result, Fenris found himself stiff with pain on Hawke's bed, trying not to snap at every single sound just because the discomfort put him on such a harsh edge. Hawke had drawn the curtains closed despite it being a sunny afternoon, and settled down by the edge of the bed.

 

„I'd like to help you get the armor off, Fenris. I can't imagine it's comfortable right now.“

 

It wasn't, but neither was the prospect of his naked skin against soft sheets that'd just be pure agony right now. But still, something in his chest softened as he realized that Hawke had listened to him, had learned from him.

 

„ _Don't make me ask. Don't make me beg, Hawke.“_

 

And she didn't.

 

The way she was willing to adapt to his moods and ticks and mannerisms did strange things to how steady he felt on his feet. Lying down, he felt it made him relax a little, not having to worry about asking for her help. The prospect of sheets against his burning skin was horrible, but the gauntlets were turning his skin prickly, the weight of his breastplate made him want to scream.

 

So Hawke undressed him.

 

A few months ago, he wouldn't have felt comfortable with letting her, or with the fact that she remained clothed. He associated that with an imbalance in power over the situation, but by now he knew that nudity wasn't something inherently sexual or vulnerable for Hawke. She'd grown up in small spaces with her parents and two siblings, and while she appreciated his body in very different ways, she could well separate this from seduction.

 

Their relationship had remained chaste after she'd welcomed him back, and truth be told he was glad for the chance to explore what being with her meant without the added layers and burdens of intercourse. They were building this from the ground up, a daunting and oftentimes vexing task, but rewarding in its own right.

 

Oh, they'd touched. Of course they had. But kisses and touches and heavy desire in the air hadn't led to sex quite yet. Just a certain sense of growing comfortable with one another in ways neither had known before.

 

Hawke curled up on the other side of the bed, facing him. There wasn't much space between them, just enough not to further aggravate the lyrium, and she made sure to let her magic lie dormant. She reached out to brush the hair from his face. Fenris tensed, skin crawling with pain and the push of memories not lost but shoved away. The hand stilled. “You don't want to be touched right now.”

 

The tension in his shoulders didn't ease. Fenris was naked and in pain in the bed of the woman he loved, and yet there was something gnawing at the back of his mind, a different voice trying to tell him that it wasn't his place to refuse her. With his jaw clenched tightly, he could only nod.

 

Her hand still hovered, but didn't come closer. “Tell me 'no'.” Not a command. There was a gentleness to Hawke's voice. The tips of her fingers suddenly seemed not to threaten painful touch to his over-sensitive skin, but to offer the means with which to protect himself in ways he'd never been allowed before and was still learning to employ.

 

Nostrils flaring under the sharp intake of breath, Fenris tried to remember the weight of his own needs, and that they weighed as much, mattered as much as Hawke's. And that sometimes, they were allowed to outweigh anything else as well. With effort, he dragged his eyes to hers, allowed himself to sink into soothing blue. “No,” someone said with his voice. He felt that he should add more, explain that he didn't want to be touched right now, but that she need not ask his permission any time. That if she was willing to be a little more patient with him, if he hadn't exhausted her reserves quite yet, he'd learn to communicate a no. But the words were stuck in Fenris' throat, lodged firmly, because to tell her no was difficult enough.

 

Hawke lowered her hand, smoothed over the pillow his head rested on and finally tucked it beneath her own pillow with a smile. Fenris found himself able to breathe once more. She wouldn't have touched him no matter his reply; he could see that in her eyes now. Something was lifting from his chest, something that had clouded his vision and made it difficult to breathe.

 

“Sleep well,” she said, leaving the promise to remain close should he need anything unsaid. Hawke was already fast asleep while he was still looking at her, mouthing that small and precious word and finally scoffing at his own foolishness.

 

He could tell her no, anytime, for any reason. Fenris was free to do that, just as he was free to choose not to. His body still hurt badly from the inside out, but the phantom pain of chains he'd broken long ago had become a little less daunting tonight.

 

Hours later Hawke startled awake, surprised at first to discover she'd drifted from a nap into proper sleep. It had grown dark outside her curtains, and she'd woken to Fenris bridging the distance between their bodies like a lazy, tired cat, gleaming eyes and all. Not looking to be scratched behind the ears, just ready to reclaim his rightful space. Hawke yawned and smiled, and breathed “May I?” against his mouth. When his grumbled a tired yes against hers, she carefully kissed his lips. He'd likely be gone by morning, especially if the pain hadn't quite faded away, but to know he'd sleep with her for a few hours yet was just enough for now.

 

* * *

 

 

„But what gets you off?“

 

Fenris rolled his eyes and gave the bottle more attention than her. Hawke felt jealous, because he had a mouth made for sitting on.

 

Oh, so what, they'd shared a few glasses, she was allowed to want to ruin him a little in all the good ways.

 

Not that Fenris seemed particularly happy about the current subject. There was a redness to his cheek and ears that didn't stem from the alcohol, and Hawke was quite delighted about having put it there. He could be as crude as he could be shy, easily flustered when talk swung to him. Not a stammer in his voice when he mused about her beauty, but nervous little chuckles when she called him handsome, or asked how he masturbated.

 

Well, that change in topic might have been a bit sudden, true.

 

Couldn't really blame her for being curious.

 

„C'mon. It's just us. You can tell me. I'll be honest, for me it's your voice.“

 

„Hawke...“

 

„No, really. Have you ever listened to yourself? It gets me places.“

 

„Hawke.......“

 

„Also, not even battle, but just the fact that you can carry a sword that's bigger than you.“

 

„ _Marian.“_

 

Hawke had to grin when she found he wasn't just flustered, but... interested. Also embarrassed. Thank the maker for her overactive imagination, because that had made taking things slow so much easier over the past few months.

 

„I won't be angry if it's not me, you know. I mean, if you think of different things. Your mind's allowed to wander. Just... thought you should know that.“

 

Fenris huffed, caught between offense and amusement. As if anything could compare... just... „Three years ago.“

 

Well... admittedly, she hadn't quite seen that coming. That night had been great, but it'd also been overshadowed by the way it had triggered his memories, by how he'd trembled in her arms for different reasons than finding release inside of her. So now Hawke raised an eyebrow. „You don't think of what you'd like us to do in bed in the future?“

 

This had him slam the bottle down on the table with quite a bit too much force. Drops of wine spilled over, staining the filthy floor of his mansion. Fenris snarled, but there was no true bite behind it. Hawke knew that. This was just him trying not to look vulnerable, and accidentally letting her see quite the opposite. „I do not know what I would like for us to do. Why do you expect me to know how to disentangle my desires from theirs?“

 

Ah. And there it was. Fenris blanched, tried to hide it behind a scowl as he averted his gaze, giving her nothing more than his profile.

 

It was easy to slip out of her seat and into his lap, especially as she knew he'd tell her no, tell her to back off if he needed her to. But silence made it easy to focus on the way his heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped animal. Scared, she realized, but not of her. Of himself, of his past, of moving forward lest nothing waited for him but a repeat of three years ago. It had to make him feel powerless, and she knew by now that loss of control was thin ice to meet him on.

 

So Hawke waited until his arms circled her and pulled her close, his desire to hold her outweighing his need to scowl a little more. It was a start.

 

„What makes it feel good, Fenris?“

 

„Pretending it's you.“

 

There was no comfort in his own touch because it used to be forbidden. Slaves weren't meant to feel pleasure, unless their masters wanted them to think they enjoyed what was being done to them. Too complicated an issue to unravel. So it had to be her hand, not his own.

 

Hawke hummed in thought, pulled back enough to look into his eyes and their conflicted swirl of desire, shame and fear.

 

„Just my hand?“

 

For a moment, his breath stuttered somewhere in his throat, caught as he was trying to figure out which way to flee. There was no escape from her bright blue eyes, though, and Fenris found that the exposure was strangely liberating for the lack of judgment in her gaze.

 

„... yes.“

 

„Breathe with me?“

 

She kissed him, then had him lean back into his chair, keeping her forehead pressed to his. The angle of his head made it impossible for him to see where her hand rubbed soothing circles over his chest and then dipped lower. At the hitch in his breath, Hawke murmured his name against his lips, and he did as she asked. Breathed with her, let her calm him. Oh, how he desired her, and how he feared the fact that she had not yet asked for anything in return, leaving him with no clear idea of what he was supposed to do. Just let her... or reciprocate... now? After?

 

Thoughts that flew out of his head the moment her fingers carefully found their way beneath fabric, through a nest of curls, and then wrapped around his length.

 

Fenris could only stare up at her with wide eyes as she teased him to hardness. This beautiful woman who caused an ache in his chest that was so unlike all his other pains, an ache that was sweet and alive and warm. His fingers tightened on her hips and waist, digging into the soft curve with perhaps a little more force than necessary. His gauntlets lay discarded somewhere. It would be easy to say no, he found, as he allowed himself to taste the word on his tongue. He often did, let the word sit there, to see if he wanted to speak it.

 

Tonight, he did not.

 

How foolish he'd been to think his hand felt anything like hers.

 

Three years ago there had been little time for proper foreplay. In their haste and desperation to push forward and not look back even when they should have, they'd barely taken the time to explore one another properly. Now they had the rare opportunity to make good use of a second chance, and Hawke had ever intention of taking her sweet time learning every angle and slope and line on his body. The previous weeks had already allowed her to put her hands and mouth and an endless canvas of warm, dark skin, and on good days even experimentally on sensitive white lines and swirls. But tonight… well, it was the first time she could properly hold him in her hand. Three years ago, she'd held him steady so he could push into her. Now she could hold him in order to lift him up, to watch his face and his eyes as her fingertips explored the length and girth of him.

 

Maker, but he was beautiful in every single damn way, from the flush to his handsome face to the heaving of his chest under a tunic that was now sitting askew, to the quiver of his flat stomach just above the curve of his cock, and the tension in lean, long legs that supported Hawke easily while she took her time stroking him, teasing him. With his head tipped back, she could see the delicious bob of his adam's apple whenever he swallowed, could see the strain of his clenched teeth when she teased at the slit beneath his head, gathered some fluid to make her slow strokes more smooth and pleasant. She wasn't ashamed to admit that she desperately wanted to get his cock a different kind of wet, but patience was a virtue she'd adhere to gladly whenever it came to Fenris.

 

This was, after all, quite arousing and satisfying in its own right, and Hawke had to shift a little, settle differently against his thigh lest the wet warmth between her own legs became uncomfortable. The slow, deliberate strokes of her hand were about his pleasure, all of this was for his benefit right now, but she was hardly a saint, and she hadn't lied when she claimed his voice did things to her.

 

Hawke moved her free hand to cup his cheek, let her thumb trail along his high cheekbones before she let it glide further. Allowed him to believe she was going for his hair. And then she slowed the movement of her right hand on a tight upstroke, to match the way her fingers slowly trailed along the edge of his pointed and, as she well knew, very sensitive ear.

 

Oh, but he was delightful. Or at least, Fenris was, for his eyes slipped nearly closed, his hips bucked and he moaned the most beautiful string of swears in Tevene and Trade and something she couldn't make out – much likely overwhelmed gibberish. She caught the tail end with her own lips, let his tongue curl against hers rather than around senseless words. Thumb and forefinger massaged along the tip of his ear, allowing Hawke to get utterly, blissfully drunk on the cries of pleasure Fenris let her swallow.

 

“That's it,” she murmured, pulling back to lean her forehead against his as he struggled to catch his breath, struggled to buck his hips into her hand. But she wouldn't be deterred, wouldn't be hurried by his need even when his voice cracked on her name. He was beautiful in his desire, and she wanted him to be able to savor it the way she did just watching him.

 

Turned out he was a good fit for her hand, too. There was a comfortable ease about her motions that had more to do with how relaxed she was with him than with anything else, and it translated to fluid, confident motions that kept building him up. Hawke felt his legs tremble underneath her, felt the way his fingers dug into her, sure to leave bruised but the only thing holding him back from snapping. Fenris was wound so tightly, and she was seeking to make him come loose, turn his limbs liquid and his thoughts a pleasant buzz at the back of his sated mind.

 

Even in his drafty, uncomfortable mansion, there was heat between them, radiating off their bodies and their shared desires, a rolling furnace fast approaching its boiling point. Fenris was something wild and beautiful, giving himself to pleasure he had too rarely been granted, and the sight of him held her captive. The image was sure to sear itself into her mind.

 

Fenris hissed softly as she finally let go of his ear, turned his head away for a moment to gather his composure. Hawke gave him little chance to, just tightened her hold of him, reached down with her second hand as well to cup his balls. And finally, finally he just leaned back in his back, resistance bleeding out of him as the pleasure of the presence drowned out shy fantasies and past phantoms alike. Through thick lashes he watched her, eyes on red, swollen lips, and found he gave himself to her gladly. It was just the two of them, Hawke and him, her wicked, clever fingers stroking and teasing and tugging and squeezing, and…

 

Hawke felt him still, a different kind of tension taking over his body. There was a stutter in his breath, a choked off gasp that might have been her name, and then his cock jerked. Fenris shivered with every spurt of his orgasm, and damn well nearly sobbed at the way she gentle stroked him through it, helped him keep the high going for as long as possible before gentling him down from it, warm hands on his sides and on his stomach under the tunic, soothing his erratic breathing and delighting at the spasms she could feel running through his body.

 

His own hand couldn't begin to compare.

 

Minutes passed, and Hawke stayed in his lap until he nodded. Only then did she stand to grab a wet clothes from his washing basin, helped him clean up with a small, self-satisfied smirk that Fenris commented on with a derisive tsk, because of course he did.

 

“Are you feeling alright?” she asked when she finally returned to his lap.

 

Fenris cocked an eyebrow, but knew it was important to her to ask, to make sure. He felt lazy and boneless in ways he hadn't three years ago, when pleasure had been chased by painful memories that felt like a collar around his throat. “Yes. I hope you are aware that I will not let this go unanswered...”

 

And she had the audacity to laugh at that, obviously quite pleased with herself. Fenris was feeling charitable and let her enjoy herself, merely resting his brow against her collarbone to breathe her in, to make the most of a day when the chronic pain of his lyrium was something dull and easily ignored. He would have time enough to pay her back throughout the rest of the night, at his own leisure. And if he decided to lay her down on his bed and spend the night with his face between her thighs, to learn about his own desires through judicious experimentation, well…

 

Fenris took a growing satisfaction in knowing he was certainly free to do so.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Kudos and comments are always are always welcomed with gratitude.
> 
> Chapter 2 of 2 will go up in the next few days, and will feature a more in-depth exploration of a kink or two.


End file.
